Short Circuit
by LadyMichiRose
Summary: Thomas takes in a hitchhiker because he's lonely, romantic-esque stuff ensues. I'm no good at summaries. KindaRobot! Thomas x Human! Guy-Manuel. Rating may change for later chapters, you've been warned. Just some Daft Punk stuff because they've been my latest obsession.
1. Chapter 1: Nightcall

**Hi dudes. I haven't wrote anything in a really long time and I don't know how active this website is anymore, but I started writing this and I thought I'd share. Anyway, leave a review if you'd like to tell me how it is, and follow it or whatever. I haven't wrote on here since like 2016 haha.**

**-Michi**

"Hey pal, the mental hospital called. They need you back in your cell."

This was the first thing that was said to Thomas Bangalter that cold, windy October morning. He was at the bakery, picking up some freshly baked muffins that he could eat for breakfast. He was doing something completely harmless, and he was already being mistreated. He hadn't even spoke to the cashier. He took one look at the tall Frenchman and decided in his immature teenage mind that this man was strange and wasn't worth respecting. This deeply saddened Thomas; not only because of his response to how he looked, but because he didn't even take a minute to get to know him. It was like a flip of a switch for the teenager.

Thomas chose to get strange looks and mean responses from strangers. Every day, he left the house dressed as a silver robot. He would wear a shiny gray helmet that had a long black lense that lay horizontally across his eyes. Below the lense was a flat line, which he liked to think was his mouth. He wore jet black gloves that were covered in silver plastic to match his helmet. Dressing up as a robot made Thomas more comfortable in public, usually. That way, nobody would be able to see his face and judge him based off his real face. He felt deep down in his heart that he would much rather people judge him as a robot than who he really was.

Nobody in the small town of Triomphe knew what Thomas's real face looked like. He moved in one day in the small rundown shack on the outskirts of town, located near the base of the mountains. He fixed up the outside, put all new olive green siding around the outside, and even fixed up the windows and replaced the door. But he never left the house without being dressed like a robot. He also didn't own a car or a bicycle. He preferred to walk to each of his destinations, which his destinations usually consisted of to the store and back. The kids in town actually liked him, and would run up to him asking about what space was like, or what the future was going to be like for them. As if Thomas was a spaceman who walked into a time machine and ended up in the small French town known for its beautiful, peaceful scenery.

Indeed, Triomphe was a beautiful town. It was set up more like a village, with a signature Main Street lined with family owned businesses. It even had its own movie theater that had been there since the 1930s. There were a few side streets within the town lined with small, Victorian style houses all painted in bright, pastel colors. Once their yards adorned with flowers and picket fences were passed, the roads leading out of town all led into a vast space of nothing minus some trees and worn roads that sloped downwards out of sight. The roads to the north and west, however, headed towards the mountains.

Thomas felt his face burn from underneath the mask. He handed the boy behind the register a few crumpled up bills. He tried to not notice the prying stares of some old ladies behind him who were there to buy some cakes and lie about them being homemade to their family members. He saw the boy, maybe no older than sixteen, suck some snot up his nose and hand him his change. Thomas hoped he hadn't blown his nose into his hands before he came to the register. The bag of blueberry muffins was handed to him and just like that, he was off. He opened up the door to the outside of the bakery, hearing a bell alert the owners that he was leaving. He saw some cars whisk by on the street in front of him. He looked down at the black combat boots on his feet as he made the three mile walk home. He pulled his thick red jacket around him tighter and licked his dry lips from underneath the helmet. It was getting colder and colder out, it seemed. He reminded himself to put some logs in the fireplace when he got home.

Soon, he saw the green sign proclaiming that he was leaving town and headed down a sharply inclined hill until his feet hit a dirt road. He stomped down the dirt road until he saw his house in the distance. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave when he saw the familiar sight of the small olive green house sitting before a backdrop of mountains and fields of lavender. He headed towards it and opened the tan colored gate and headed into the perimeter of his yard, closing the door behind him with a swift kick. The garden of scarlet roses needed some tending to, but the words that the teenager said flashed in his mind and made his heart heavy. He sauntered up the steps to the door and unlocked it, closing the door and locking it. He set the bag of muffins down on the kitchen table and let out a long drawn out sigh.

Living alone wasn't something he particularly liked. Many times he thought about adopting a dog or a cat from the animal shelter, but he never got around to it. Besides, taking care of an animal was a lot of responsibility. So he sat indoors by himself, occasionally turning on the television or practicing guitar. Thomas adored music. He wrote his own songs and sang and performed them himself. He played in front of the large gold mirror in the living room, performing for any spirits that were roaming or for the ever present dust bunnies. But he wanted more than anything to have somebody share the house with him. More than anything, he wanted a friend. The dark quiet space of his house got lonely very fast. He thought the space might become less lonely if someone lived there too.

But, everyone in Triomphe thought he was a freak.

Thomas walked into the living room and sat down on his blue plaid sofa with a loud thud. His thin frame was sucked into the softness, and he thought about staying there forever until somebody found him. He kicked his legs up onto the wooden coffee table and crossed his legs. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was about to drift off to sleep until he heard a strange noise.

Someone was knocking on the front door.

Alarmed, he leapt up and grabbed a nearby TV remote as a makeshift weapon. He wasn't sure if the teenagers who had tried to TP'ed his trees were back. In case they were, he needed to make sure he could chase them away. Cautiously, he approached the front door slowly. He pressed himself up against the wall and gazed through the peephole of the tall, dark brown door.

Standing there was a man around his age (twenty-one). His hair was dark brown and trimmed to his shoulders. The long locks were parted to the side so they fell in an elegant, effortless way. His eyes were the color of the ocean; a crystal blue. He was pale, and it seemed like he was cold and sick. He certainly was underdressed for the weather. He was wearing a short sleeved white shirt and baggy black pants. On his feet were tan dress shoes. On his back was an orange backpack that was stuffed so full that it was ripping at the seams. His thick brows were furrowed and his eyes were darting back and forth nervously as he reached out to knock again.

Thomas, trying to regain his composure, opened the door a crack.

"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.

Hope lit up the man's face, "Hi, um… do you have any food to spare?"

"Food?" Thomas asked, dumbfounded.

"I know it's a strange question, but I ran out. Please. I've walked for miles and miles, and I need some food for the rest of the trip." He pleaded, "I'll pay you, if you want me to. Just please give me something to eat." Thomas felt sorry for the man. He seemed hungry, tired, and desperate.

"I-I have some food. Come on in, please." He said quietly, opening the door all the way. He towered over the brunette. He saw his eyes widen in shock at his appearance. He staggered backwards a bit, his pale mouth parted. Fear rose up inside Thomas when he saw the look on his face, but then he saw his lips curl up into a smile before he let out an amused chuckle.

"Are you going to a costume party? It _is _October." He inquired.

"No, this is just how I look." He answered.

He followed Thomas inside and they went into the messy kitchen. He had his back faced to the hungry stranger as he dug into the cupboards for something to give him.

"You're kidding." The man scoffed, taking a can of soda from Thomas's gloved hands.

"No. Really. I-I wear this all the time." He insisted, feeling his stomach being tied up into knots. He saw the man open up the can with a loud pop and he raised a brow.

"You're dead serious?"

"Yes."

"But, why?"

"I don't like it when people see my face."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"I don't know."

The man took a sip and set the can down on the counter. He closed his eyes, and Thomas could see how long his black eyelashes were. If it weren't for his deep, alluring voice, he could easily be mistaken for a girl. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up at him with a small smile.

"It's a little strange." Was his frank reply, "But, if it makes you feel better, then who cares what other people think. It's not hurting them." Thomas felt his heart swell. His mouth formed a smile, which hadn't appeared on his face for a very long time.

"Thank you." He said.

"It's no problem." The man told him, brushing some stray strands of hair away from his face. He grabbed the can of soda and took a plastic bag full of food from Thomas's shaky hands. He turned to face the doorway to the bare hallway leading to the front door and looked over his shoulder at Thomas. "Thanks for the food. I have to head off now."

"Where are you going?" He asked, feeling himself move forward as if he was going to follow him. He skidded to a halt and started to straighten up his tall frame, feeling awkward as always.

"I'm going nowhere, really. Just away from where I was." He told him, looking down at his pale hands. He saw his eyes lose their amused luster. They became painted with a painful look. Thomas could see that wherever he had come from wasn't a place that made him happy. He didn't want to pry with questions about it, so he folded his hands in front of him and tilted his head.

"You could come back here if you'd like." He offered, his voice stilted.

"That's very nice of you, but I would just end up bothering you." He admitted, not meeting his gaze.

"You won't be a bother to me. I actually…" Thomas looked away and began to look out the window above the kitchen sink that overlooked the petite fountain in the garden, "I actually get kinda lonely here. I'd like the company."

"You would?" He asked, hope laced within his voice. Thomas turned back to him and nodded and the man started to smile slightly again.

"Yes, in fact, you could stay if you'd really like." He told him, feeling his face heat up. He wasn't sure if the man would reject his offer because of who he was. The thought of him turning his nose up at him and running out of the house with the bag frightened him. He began to shake violently, like he was suffering from the flu.

But the man's smile turned into a grin as he nodded, "If you wouldn't mind, then I'd love to."


	2. Chapter 2: Veridis Quo

**Disclaimer: no, Thomas's dad is not dead in real life, this is just a fanfiction, it shouldn't be taken as literal fact. It's a STORY.**

**Don't be dumb.**

**-me**

The man introduced himself as Guy-Manuel, but he told Thomas that he could just call him Guy if the name was too much of a mouthful. He set up what little he had packed into his backpack in the room across the hall from Thomas's. That room was specifically used as a spare bedroom for when his family came to visit, but they hadn't visited in years so he thought it would be fine for him to stay there. Each room in the house had a specific theme. The room that Guy was staying in was beach themed; the walls were painted a baby blue, paintings of the beach hung on the walls, and seashells were arranged on the dressers. A tall cream colored dresser sat directly across from the bed which was adorned with matching sheets. A small nightstand with a desk lamp sat next to it.  
Thomas felt bad when he entered the room. He thought that the room was dusty and ragtag. This was because it was full of cheap knick-knacks and the very few decorative things he could afford. But when he saw him set down his bag on the bed and really examine his surroundings, a genuinely happy smile appeared on his lips. He turned to Thomas.  
"It's nice here. Thank you for letting me stay, I'll try not to be a bother." He whispered, unzipping his bag and pulling out some clothes.  
"I promise you're not a bother." He told him earnestly, "I just hope that you don't mind staying in this dusty old place."  
"I think it's lovely." He smiled. Silence had resumed over the two of them and Guy had turned his attention to unpacking. Thomas awkwardly stepped out of the room and reminded himself that he urgently needed to clean. He walked down the stairs and into the dark hallway that had the kitchen to the left and the living room to the right. He went left and started to do the dishes, wondering how he just happened to come across someone who didn't mind his appearance and wanted to stay with him.  
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he heard Guy ask, "Do you want me to pitch in on some chores around here?"  
"If you'd like." He answered, gazing out the small window that was above the sink. He could see the sun starting to set over the mountains, casting the valley in an orange glow. Thomas had always wanted to watch the sun set with somebody, and now that Guy was staying at his house, he finally had his opportunity. There were actually many things that Thomas wanted to do, but they all involved doing them with someone else. He had already completed the list of things he could accomplish by himself: graduate college with a degree in computer science, buy a house, and learn how to take care of himself.  
"I'd feel weird about staying here and taking advantage of you, you know?" The deep voice next to him startled him back to reality. Thomas peered over at him and gave him a firm nod before returning to the dishes. Guy still had a small smile on his face as he gazed around the simple yet neat kitchen. He opened his mouth to speak again, "So, what do you do for a living?"  
"I make websites. All from here at home." He replied quietly, rinsing off a cerulean colored plate and putting it in the dishwasher, "I put up an ad online and people who need a website made contact me through email or through the phone, and I make a website for them just the way they want it."  
"That's so cool!" He exclaimed, "And you can do it all from the comfort of your own home!" Thomas didn't know why his response crushed his heart. He didn't want to be in the comfort of his own home. His home had become a prison to him since he had moved to town. He couldn't leave because he knew of the reaction he'd get from people. And he couldn't bear taking the helmet off. What if they think I'm ugly?  
"It's a blessing and a curse." He told him, his voice becoming no louder than a slight whisper, "I'd like to go outside, but people think I'm a freak or that I'm scary."  
"I don't know why." Guy told him genuinely, "You seem like a nice, gentle man."  
"T-Thank you." Was Thomas's stiff reply. He wasn't exactly used to compliments, especially from someone as beautiful as Guy. His face burned in shame as he felt his presence leave his side and move over to the window in front of the kitchen table. The window overlooked the mountains and the small part of his backyard that was covered in wildflowers.  
"If you'd like to go outside, then why not go outside?" He mumbled to himself so quietly, that Thomas barely heard it. Thomas stopped washing the dishes and turned to look at him. His gaze was trained on some rabbits running around outside. His eyes narrowed as he whispered, "If you want to see the world, then who is stopping you?"  
"But-" Thomas began hesitantly.  
Guy turned to him, his oceanic eyes narrowed, "Nobody should be able to stop you from doing what you want. If you want to see the world, then do it. It's as simple as that. Who cares what they think. To hell with that. Their hearts are just bitter."  
Thomas walked over to him and stood next to him at the window. He sighed, "I want to do things that I wasn't able to do by myself. I've been alone all this time and I've accomplished all that I've wanted to by myself."  
Guy put a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a hard, yet reassuring look, "I'll do it with you."  
Even though the sun was setting outside, a new kind of light rose within Thomas and he felt his heart began to flutter. It was a light he hadn't felt in years. He hadn't felt this way since his father was still alive. Thomas could see an overwhelming feeling of warmth overcome him.  
"You'd do that for me?" He asked.  
"Of course I would. You seem like you need it." Guy grinned, "We can go through this list of yours together."  
"Together…" Thomas repeated, hearing his voice become distorted. He was beginning to cry. He struggled to stop himself as he didn't want to cry in front of Guy. He nodded, "Thank you…"

***********

It had all started when Thomas's father passed.  
He was a musician, something Thomas had always aspired to be. He remembered his father singing in the car, singing him to bed, and other instances where he could remember his warm, soothing voice. Thomas's mother was absent throughout most of his childhood, leaving his father to take care of him. He would wake him up, make him breakfast, dress him for school, greet him when he came home, make him dinner, and then tuck him into bed at night.  
Thomas's mother and father fought a lot. Thomas knew she was seeing another man while she was married to his father, but he kept mum about it whenever his father had asked him about it. He felt dirty about keeping something like that from the person he loved the most, but he knew it wasn't his place to ruin an already failing union. Knowing his mother's infidelities made him feel like his body was caked up with mud. He would walk past them screaming at each other with bricks on his little feet. He would plug his ears, cry into the soft brown fur of his teddy bear, and pray over and over for them to stop. What happened to when Mommy and Daddy used to kiss each other and we'd all have fun together? When the fighting subsided, Thomas's father would come upstairs, tuck him into bed, and sing him the usual ritual of "California Dreamin'" by the Mamas and Papas.  
"Daddy?" Thomas whispered in his frightened five year old voice, "Do you and Mama love each other?"  
His father stopped singing and closed his eyes. He sighed, a very deep, stressed sigh. When he opened his dark brown eyes again, he could see the sadness within them, and the concern that lined his face.  
"Yes." His father answered, and started singing again from where he left off. Thomas wasn't sure if he was just telling him what he wanted to hear or if he really believed that deep down, his mother still loved him. Once the song was over, his father kissed his forehead, shut off the light next to him, and shut the door.  
About a week after, Thomas was playing with some toy cars out in his front yard. He was pretending to make a highway, using some pebbles as the dividing line and making the cars go in their opposite directions. He made some crushing noises as two cars collided head on across the dividing line.  
"Shut up!" He heard his mother scream. He bit his lip, knowing they were at it again. He saw his mother trudge out of the house with a cigarette in her red mouth. He never saw his mother smoke before. In her hand was a slip of paper. And on her ring finger was something gold and shiny. Not like the silver engagement ring that his father had given her. Thomas felt his heart sink.  
"I know he gave you that ring! Doesn't he know that you're married?" He heard his father shouted angrily.  
"Why does it matter to you?!" She growled. When her green eyes caught Thomas's brown ones as he sat in the grass, she frowned and picked up a car that resembled the one that sat in their driveway. She threw the orange vehicle out into the street, watching a car whisk past at a high speed. "That's what I think about your cheap ass car, Daniel!"  
"That car is still valued more than you are, you bitch!" He heard his dad yell. Thomas's mind was somewhere else as he stood up and gazed out into the street where the car had gone. He wasn't sure what he was thinking at the time. He wasn't sure if he was thinking at all. He just walked off the emerald grass and onto the inky pavement of the street. The small orange Ford Pinto toy was sitting in the middle of the street. He reached out to grab it, because it was a missing part of his play set. He could still remember the scorching summer heat that came off the pavement as he bent down to pick the car up in his hands. He felt the smooth metal of the toy in his chubby little fingers. Then he heard a honk. And a scream. A loud, thick scream. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. He felt himself behind pushed forward onto the street, his paper skin being scraped open onto the ink beneath him. Red seeped out onto the ground from the new wounds on his arms as he heard his mother scream.  
His father had saved him.  
But nobody could save his father.  
Thomas sat at his bedside at the hospital and when the heart monitor flat lined and the loud shrill beep filled the room, he had to be ripped from his bedside. His mother grabbed his arms and dug her crimson painted nails into his arm, which was scabbing up from the incident. The scabs had now started to bleed again, and in his most vulnerable state, she saw him lean towards him. She was so close that his nose almost touched hers. He could smell her breath; bubblegum and cigarettes.  
"It's your fault that he died." She told him simply, without a single hint of emotion. There wasn't a tinge of sadness or anger. She was about as frank as a teacher telling a student that they had made a mistake. He kicked and screamed as she pulled him out of the hospital, and he could see the troubled looks of people as he went past.  
As he got older, he began to look more like his father. His mother would remind him all the time that he was growing up to look more like his father, and a deep sense of dread filled in whenever he passed a mirror. In response to what had happened, when he moved into a new town away from her and away from the trauma, he had burned and shattered all of the mirrors in the house. Truthfully, he hadn't seen his face in full detail since he was ten, back when he thought he looked nothing like his father minus the cocoa brown of his eyes and the muddy color of his hair. But as he got older, he saw that he was inheriting his receding hairline and his jawline. His frame had become lanky and thin. He considered himself to be unattractive and disgusting, and left it at that. He didn't want to see the reflection of his father in the mirror. It just drowned him a sea of grief. Deep down, Thomas truly did believe that the accident was all his fault.  
If only I hadn't gone out into the street, I could still be with him.


End file.
